


Howl - adult

by seraphim_grace



Category: DCU, Supernatural
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-26
Updated: 2011-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/seraphim_grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne owed John Winchester a favour and when John was murdered he took the boys in, but Dean acquired the ability to see demons.<br/>Ficlets playing with the timeline and colliding universes</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Title: I am Batman  
Author: Seraphim_grace

Rating: pg13  
Word count:  
Prompt = Bruce Wayne owed John Winchester a favour.

 

Gotham city was the kind of girl you shouldn't have smiled at. She would quickly fuck you, fuck you over and forget your name in the morning. It was one of the things Howl loved about her. It was a city of sky scrapers and tenements, wires strung between her like the hairs of angels, a remnant of the fallen devil that she was.

From the top of the building she was sprawled out like a whore, gilded with sodium and headlights. "Howl," a woman breathed in his ear, "are you in position?"

"Just taking a minute to appreciate the lady, Oracle." He answered. He crouched alone on the rooftop, scanning the city. "Listening to her as she talks, you know, love," he used the word to tease her, "appreciating her curves."

The woman, Oracle, laughed, "you know our girl, she's saving something special for you."

Howl didn't laugh but she knew he was smiling his razor's smile. "I'm getting feedback on the line," he told her, "must be that time of the month."

"Ha de fucking ha ha." She answered, "Now, target will be in position in five, four,"

Howl straightened, and slipped his ear buds into position, then without pause jumped clear off the edge of the sky scraper.

***

Black Mask surveyed his minions with the casual assurance of someone who knew that he deserved them, they were all lick spittles and toadies but it was hard to get the help these days, and most of these managed his legal business enterprises. He had only two guards on the door because after all the Bat only tended to interfere when he was breaking the law and as lucrative as property could be it wasn't against illegal.

"So, how are we doing on the merger for the land near the hospital?" Black Mask had some cunning plans for that land, nursing accomodation, visitors accomodation, all high rent short lease things, once he had it of course.

The window exploded inwards and a small metal ball rolled in through the broken glass over the carpet. "Oh..." the rest of it was cut off by a high pitched squeal that sent his body guards reaching for their ears and not their guns. One of them bent double, emptying his stomach uselessly on the carpet.

The 'mask landed effortless amidst the broken glass with a flip of his knee length coat, his face shadowed by his hood but then he lifted his hand, and adjusted a dial upon the metal gauntlet he held there. "Sabine," the man drawled, walking straight past Black Mask and to what was probably the most lick spittle of all the minions, the one in the cheap suit. "Did you honestly think you could hide from me?"

The minion started to back up against the wall, "but Howl, I, I."

The mask tilted his head, baring teeth in the blackness of his hood. "Save it." He cut it off and then altered the dial on his wrist again which began to glow before pressing the heel of his hand to the minion's head. For a second there was a light and then the minion, Sabine, collapsed to the floor. "You'll need to get him an ambulance." The mask, Howl, said amicably, thumbing the control on his ipod to change the track, then he turned to leave.

"This is harrassment!" Black Mask protested through the shriek in his ears.

The mask just laughed before leaping back out of the window.

"FUCKING MASKS!" He howled against the open window but the mask was gone, "I want his head!"

***


	2. Bathtime

For convenience Dick Grayson kept an apartment in the Bowery, just two streets away from Gotham's east end police station. It wasn't the safest of neighbourhoods but it wasn't like he lived there. It was just somewhere to keep his things, to hide out, and to occasionally crash. Nevertheless, it was fully furnished, all the bills were paid, and nicely decorated.

The bathroom was the height of the 1960s chic, white tiles, with grey grout, steel appliances, and an avocado suite. The bathmat was pink. To maintain the illusion someone lived here full-time there was a selection the bottles on the windowsill. This was lucky, as Dick was currently sitting in the bath, scented lightly with Aloe, head full of shampoo suds reading a paper on Kandaqi relics , with his reading glasses perched upon his nose.

Behind him, head back against the wall, and squeezed between Dick and the edge of the bath was Dean.

The East End, in the 60s, had been a rich and affluent area. The apartment, because of this, was full of little luxuries -- including a wider than average bath.

Even with the extra room fitting two of them in was a squeeze, and Dean was not happy about being ignored in favour of work. Even if it was only the day job.

"Oh, I don't know," he whined into the back of his lover's head, "where, oh where, has the romance gone?"

Dick, just snorted a laugh and turned the page, using his wet thumb to press the paper down over the staple.

"I come all the way to Gotham for the first time in three years, my devoted lover promises me a bath, and what do I get, sat on whilst he reads about dead people."

Dick was used to this sort of behaviour, and so didn't react, other than smirking where Dean couldn't see it.

"And it's not like we have to pay the bills. I must have lost my gorgeousness, I must be hideously ugly, perhaps, instead of Cologne and wearing scarecrow fear toxin, maybe that is why my lover is ignoring me. tell me, oh wall, what it is I must do to attract his attention?"

Dick dropped the printout over the side of the path well out of way of the water as he turned and poked Dean in the chest. "couldn't just wait, could you? Always, always so impatient. Makes me feel wanted." Naked in the bath with another man, Dick could sound offended and sarcastic, even if his eyes were twinkling with mischief.

Dean had a mouth made for sin, wide, plump, with a slightly crooked cupid's bow that gave the impression of sex especially when he was angry. The goddess Circe had called him the avatar of Lust even as he leered at her. His mouth would have made him attractive even if the rest of him was modelled on clay face, but instead he had high wide cheekbones, a strong jaw, observant green eyes and a spatter of freckles across his cheeks.

Dick on the other hand was typically handsome, pale Romany skin, thick black hair, an expressive mouth, classical nose and high clear forehead. His bright blue eyes were almost kohl lined with lashes making them more vivid.

It was a standing joke in the Gotham tabloids that all of the Wayne men were handsome. Of course they only knew the half of it.

With only six years between them this thing between Dick and Dean was inevitable, handsome horny and available this routine, it was not right to call a relationship because they were often others involved and neither evoked a claim upon the other, happened when they were together. It was traditionally several days spent in their bed making the most of the years of training that Batman had given them in strength, stamina and flexibility. Oracle was under instruction that she was only to disturb them for anything greater than a gang war -- even if deans alter ego didn't fight crime as such -- he was a Demon slayer and so spent most of his time travelling the states.

Dean had been in Gotham for nearly 2 weeks now. All manner of minor hell spawn and lesser Demons were appearing all over the city, and not just in Arkham either where there was always one or two who had been mistaken for mad.

It meant that the two of them had been busier than usual, Batman had all of his soldiers on the street, from dusk till Dawn without surcease, even making his disapproval known when Howl had stopped by Bippo's drive-through to grab something to eat on the way -- although he knew that using the gauntlet make Howl hungry.

Dick was Nightwing and Dean was Howl, it was as it had always been, just now it was in Gotham.

Because of the hard pace that Batman had set Dean was wearing his eye patch, suggesting that his eye, which could see Demons even in human host, was aching and strained. It was another of those things that should have made him unattractive but actually framed his beauty. It was no wonder that Dick couldn't keep his hands off him. And now Dean was whining.

"Don't think I didn't know you've got me in this bath to get me away from my map. You promised me, Big Brother, depraved and lurid things and instead I get ignored for staff schedules." Dean was quite sure that the answer to Gotham's growing daemon population was reflected in its layout but he couldn't see it so he spent his off hours, few as they were,staring at it.

Dick pretended offence "I'll have you know," he said loftily, "that those where descriptions of Kandaqi relics used in Demon worship and suggestions by the sentinels of magic of how to defuse them to put them on display." then he stuck his tongue out at him.

"Don't show me that unless you willing to use it." Dean hefted himself out of the bath with both hands, walking across the horrid pink rug without bothering to dry himself and going to the fridge. "Dude, you've only got zesti in here. You're worse than Tim and at least he has the excuse of being underage." He pulled out the tin and popped open a tab, emptying half of it in a single swallow.

Dick had the decency to wrap a towel around his head, to dry his hair. Dean tried to whistle in appreciation that belched instead, and they both laughed.

The corner of Dick's mouth curled up and his eyes darkened as he stood across the kitchen from Dean, and he began to talk in a low voice, rich with lust and appreciation of the sight before him, Dean naked and wet in the yellow kitchen light.

"how many of your kisses are enough and more than enough for me. As big a number as the Libyan grains of sand that lie at silphium producing Cyrene between the oracle of Sultry Jupiter and the sacred tomb of old Battus; Or as many stars that see the secret love affairs of men, when the night is silent. So many kisses are enough and more than enough,"

It was a love poem and Dean knew it, it was one of those things between them, something Dick had learned at Yale and saved away for one of the times that Dean visited him there, a promise of more when he was older than wet sloppy kisses, tongue catching on Dean's braces as they sat on Dick's bed, with Dick's hands firmly underneath his own ass to stop them from roaming - no matter how adult Dean had been at fifteen, and the constant reminder that Dean was a kid and that Bruce would break his no kill rule especially for him.

Dick went to his knees on the floor before Dean, allowing him to pull away the short white towel and throw it to the side. "These curls," Dick said burying his face in Dean's wet pubic hair, "they drive me fucking batshit," he parted them with his thumb his breath washing over the damp skin of his cock.

"Love it when you read me fucking dirty poems," Dean husked as Dick just breathed on him. "Fucking love it when you talk dirty."

Dick just chuckled as he nuzzled against the damp skin between crotch and thigh where he gripped with fingers roughened by fighting even through the gloves. Dean's hands were no less callussed and one of them slipped into Dick's hair, fingers threading through the black, and the other cupping the back of his neck where the hair was kept brutally short. "You've got a body for dirty poetry and cheekbones made for sin. And your cock..." His tongue ran a wet stripe along the soft flesh watching it thicken and harden in front of him before laying it out on the meat of his palm.

"Yeah?" Dean pressed,

"Your mouth is made for my kisses and your eyes,"

"We were talking about my cock," and it was steadily growing under Dick's warm wet breath.

"You have eyes made for piracy."

"Ha de fucking ha ha!" Dean said, "and here I was, ready to put out, and you make that old joke, like I haven't heard 'em all, and Jack Fuckin' Sparrow can fuck right off."

"I think you'd make him roll over and beg," Dick husked against Dean's stomach, "you'd turn those eyes on him, that mouth, these curls," he drew the word out "and he'd be singing Pieces of eight and passing the rum." Then Dick laughed to himself, "were you the reason all the rum was gone?"

"No," Dean said pushing Dick backwards so he fell unto his ass on the rug, "I didn't even see that fuckin' movie, Sammy said it went on for like two hours too long, and that Keira Knightley, it'd be riding a bike over train tracks, you'd get there but you'd feel every bump along the way, far too damn skinny, I'm not sure I'd want to fuck her as much as force feed her lard."

Dick laughed, "but you'd still fuck her?" he asked in a voice full of mischief.

"Well yeah, I just might ask for crash pads with the usual safety equipment."  
Sat on his ass on the rug, naked and wet, Dick tapped his temples "and remember there's no more important safety rule than this - safety glasses."

Dean laughed, "you are such a dork!" he said, "and shouldn't it be Kevlar weave codpiece?" He tapped the skin above his cock, which was, despite the conversation, still straining for attention.

Dick climbed to his feet and turned towards the bedroom. The bed was always made in reasonable but not extravagant linens. It was chosen more for durability by Alfred than pattern since he knew exactly what went on here even if he operated on a "don't ask please don't tell me" policy.  
Dean made a noise that was more surprise than arousal, on the small of Dick's back was a black mark, and through it a design in blue. "Ohmigod!" Dean said grabbing him to look at it closer. It was a batwing tattoo and through it the blue nightwing symbol. "Who was it? did you go drinking with Roy again?" Then came the second question, "Does..."

"Yes," Dick said flopping unto the bed, "Bruce knows and no, he won't let me forget it. I lost days the last time I went drinking with the Titans."

"Even I, the king of risk takers, know better than to drink with Starfire and Beastboy, they can inhale eighty proof and walk it off."

"Yeah, but you got in between Circe and Wonder-woman in a fight," Dick continued, "that's the absolute height of stupidity."

Dean sniggered and palmed his cock. "I still consider their reaction out of order."  
Dick laughed, watching with hungry eyes the way that Dean lightly pumped his cock, stood at the end of the bed, knowing Dick was watching. "You suggested a threesome." Dick answered, "which," he licked his lips, "I agree, would be hot, but continents would collide, stars would go out, universes would explode."

Dean climbed up unto the bed, "but it would be worth it, wouldn't it?" Then he sat back on his heels, surveying the treasure before him. "Sure you'd die in a boneless heap, but it would be a happy one."

"Pervert," Dick grinned, "take off the patch." Dean obliged him, throwing it to the side, "You've got cheekbones like geometry and eyes like sin."

"You talking dirty to me again, boy wonder?" Dean's lips parted just a little as he leaned down, "you gonna tell me all those fancy lines, about my shoulders, about my arms, about my ass." For effect Dean stretched, pulling all those muscles, running fingers along his rib cage to show himself off, which was something he was never shy of doing, "and if you hadn't started with the pirate jokes you could have had this," he hefted his cock in his hand, "in your mouth, you could have had it heavy on your tongue, slipping past your teeth, you're good with your teeth, aren't you, Birdboy, the taste of it, the need of it."

"Slut!" Dick said and tackled him.

"Hello pot," Dean laughed as he was rolled unto the mattress under Dick, "meet kettle." He reached up to snatch a kiss, which turned into two, three, sloppy and wet, all tongue and teeth, and hands gripping hard into his shoulders and grinding hips against his own with grunts and groans and Dean's own hands finding the tattoo on the base of Dick's spine and pushing down, then with knowing figures parting the cheeks of his ass and pulling.

"Fuck," Dick said and then rolled them again so that Dean was on top, his eyes fell on the three scars that ran along Dean's ribcage, "nearly lost you," he said and rolled his hips, "came so fucking close to losing you," he bit down on the meat of Dean's neck, between shoulder and collarbone, hard enough to bruise. "You're not to be that fucking stupid again, little brother."

Dean moved his hand from the scar, putting it on his thigh, "didn't mean to be that fucking stupid the first time." He was used to Dick gnawing on him like this, even as his own fingers found a new scar just under Dick's nipple, a perfect circle like someone had pressed a heated coin there. There was a plethora of black blue bruises across his chest - it was just the job they were in. "Looked like a demon, quacked like a demon, how was I to know it was a mother fuckin' wendigo?"

The bracelet on his left wrist caught on Dick's fingers as he suddenly tried to grab his hand, the gauntlet considered forming as it often did during sex, making it complicated without his mask. "You were cocky," Dick chided and flicked his tongue out to catch the stray drops of sweat caught in the divot between cheekbones.

"Yeah," he rubbed his cock against Dick's thigh, strong like steel, with skin worn hairless by the kevlar and acrobatics. "Confident cocky lazy dead."

For a moment Dick just clutched Dean to his own chest. "Not going to lose you," he said and then flapped his hand about around the pillows for the bottle of slick he kept there. "going to fuck you so hard you can't leave this bed, so you can't do something so fucking stupid ever again."

"Are you," Dean taunted, "you gonna fuck me so hard I can't walk, so I feel it in the morning, feel you every time I move and remember you fucking me so hard? Are you, Dick, are you?" His smirk was razor sharp now, his skin tacky with sweat, "you gonna force your cum up inside me so that I know I belong to you."

The metal of the gauntlets was forming, tiny little silver thorns sticking into his forearms, adding just a touch of pain to the proceedings, "gonna find all the demons for me, rough them up, and go, here you go, Howl, i got these for you, so you can't be so fucking stupid again." He bit Dick's lip, hard enough to almost draw blood, "you gonna do that, Dick, you gonna be like Bruce for me?"

That stopped Dick's anger, "Bruce wouldn't touch you," he answered his hands gripping around the gauntlets, the vines of metal with their tiny thorns, the pin pricks of blood on skin.

"He wouldn't touch you either, had to go get it from Clarke, didn't you?"

Dick knew that grin, it was pure Howl, Dean had put on his mask, as it were, assumed the other persona, become the hero, and Howl was dangerous in ways that Dean wasn't. Howl destroyed and consumed demons, Howl could tell which had dead hosts and would cut through them with his sword. Howl had seared innocents with the fire from his gauntlets. Dean wanted to save people - Howl just wanted the kill.

But Dick could play this game too, you didn't grow up the way that they had and not learned to be cruel. "And he was just Super." He added. Then in a lower voice, almost to himself, he said, "he saved you."

It chastened Dean, who sat back on Dick's thighs and lowered his eyes, "I scared you, I get that," he said, "it just,"

"yeah," Dick agreed, prepared to brush it under the carpet, "now you gonna see just how flexible I can be?" He pressed the slick into Dean's gauntletted hand, it was funny how the metal seemed almost gold in this light and warm to the touch. With his free hand Dick laid his hand on the anti possession brand. "Wanna bend me over so my knees are behind my ears? wanna take this," he looked at Dean's cock, still erect and eager despite the change in tone, "and make me howl?"

"Oh that's just bad," Dean said as he squeezed some of the slick unto his fingers, "that's real bad." They were deft at this, it didn't take much, it never did, between arousal and play Dick felt like he couldn't get enough, would never get enough, wanted to swallow him to keep him safe, to patrol with him, even if he was hopelessly outmatched with Howl's supernatural enemies, still remembered the fifteen year old boy's sloppy kisses and the cut lips on his braces and trust even as he rocked unto Dean's three fingers. It wasn't love, not like normal people had, it was equals and need and trust and horniness and lots of other things and so fucking good.

Dean fucked like he did everything else, hard and with little pretense. He forced his way in and he knew it had to hurt but that's what Dick wanted, if something was good it had to be paid for in blood. They were Wayne men, they had learned that lesson well.  
So although there was plenty of slick there wasn't enough preparation as Dean bent him double, pushing his thighs up about his ears the way he had promised. Dick was getting too old for this position and he'd feel it in the morning, but it was nothing a hot bath wouldn't cure, and it was worth it. It was worth it for the heat of Dean, the feel of him, the delicious tug of skin that wanted to cling, the burning throbbing head as it bulled it's way inside him.

He could see Dean's half drunk tin of zesti on the counter, the condensation beading on it like the sweat on Dean's neck, trickling into that wonderful divot as Dick reached out with his tongue to wipe it away, to suckle, even as Dean grabbed his ass and squeezed as he pushed and rocked and Dick's cock was making wet patterns, alchemical trails on both their stomachs, squeezed between them as Dick bit and sucked and kissed everywhere he could reach, his hands on Dean's back, on the scars that had nearly torn him from Dick, trying for more as they grunted and groaned and rocked and gasped and reached and it was so good and not enough and more, and harder and fuck me, and I'm trying and that sadness in Dean's eyes, the gauntlets running up his arms to his shoulders with their little pin pricks of blood and the sweat from his hair falling into his eyes.

Heaven came.

With a final growl Dean pushed up as hard as he could, as if he could force his way inside, then collapsed on top of him with a deliberate oof. Before rolling off and lying beside him, barely breathless. Dick twined fingers through those covered with metal, feeling the strange stone on Dean's palm. A normal working day followed by a six hour patrol then this was serving to pull him under. He would be asleep before he said anything, so he just smiled as Dean buried his face in the crook of his neck, his breath washing over him, sweet from the soda and sour from the day.

Normal people had love, instead they had this, snarking and fighting and absences and half drunk tins of zesti. The thing was, neither of them would have traded it for anything else. Normal people didn't know what they were missing.


End file.
